


Ready to Hope

by ninathena



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: And Bellamy Looks Like He'd be Warm, Cause it's Cold in Azgeda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Future Fic, Grounder Culture, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, Road Trip, Sexy Times, Sharing Body Heat, with horses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7011718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninathena/pseuds/ninathena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future Fic that totally ignores season 4. Clarke and Bellamy deal with both personal and relationship issues while traveling with Roan throughout Azgeda. Lots of miscommunication and Roan being annoyed at these two idiots in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready to Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Just want to say thank you for all kudos, comments and bookmarks I may or may not get. But overall, just thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Apologies for any mistakes. Enjoy!

They’d been traveling for over a week, a small party made up of her, Bellamy and Roan, on their way to the capitol of the Ice Nation – _Roan’s_ Ice Nation, not his mother’s he was quick to point out – determined to forge a lasting alliance, which included an expedition into the heart of Roan’s home and kingdom.

But while the scenery on the way had been beautiful, Clarke is more than ready for the journey to be over.

After just a few days, horseback riding had become a pain in the ass – literally. Her thighs and calves burned, weak and shaky after being used in a way that they hadn’t for such long a period.

And poor Bellamy, just watching him as he tried to mount his mare was… sad – though she’ll admit, slightly entertaining. Every morning while sitting high upon her own mount, she had to hide a grin in her shoulder, stifling the laughter that threatened to bubble up from her chest. She couldn’t help it though, the sight of him as he bounced up and down, muttering in frustration with one foot in the stirrup as he tried in vain to find the leverage he needed to throw a leg over the animal, was too much not to find amusing.

It didn’t help that Roan seemed to have given him the skittish one of the lot, the poor thing stepping this way and that to rid herself of her rider before he even had a chance to get on.

When they weren’t riding, they were camping. Sleeping in tents on the hard ground was fine where they’d come from, but this far north… well, it was _cold_.

“That’s why we normally share tents when we travel throughout Azgeda. Body heat,” Roan explains one night from across their small campfire, a knowing smirk plastered irritatingly on his face. She’s thankful for the dim glow of the fire, hiding the hot flush as it blooms across her cheeks.

For the rest of the night she becomes an expert at avoiding any and all eye contact with Bellamy, keeping her head turned and eyes downcast. Butterflies dance low in her belly, their whispering wings intensifying whenever Bellamy’s fingers brush her own as they pass each other bits of jerky and nuts that serve as their meal.

Hours later, her feet crunch over the hard snow as she makes her way to her tent, dreading the way her muscles would be stiff and cramped the next morning after a night of constant shivering.

“Clarke,” he calls softly from behind, his own steps loud and echoing in the dark as he comes around, stopping her retreat.

Of course she can’t help but finally look at him then, take in his scowling expression that to anyone else would appear angry, but only makes her heart skip a beat at the concern she knew truly lay there.

“Maybe he’s right,” he says under his breath, serious eyes sliding over her shoulder to Roan still sitting by the fire behind her. “Maybe it would be better to share a tent.”

She blinks, lips parting at the thought of her and Bellamy in the same tent – practically in the same bed. Sleeping with Bellamy Blake – _actual_ sleeping – would be by far the most intimate thing they’ve ever done. A person was at their most vulnerable while sleeping, and sharing that with Bellamy…

He must see the hesitance on her face. “I mean, it’s not like we won’t be wearing layers of clothes. It’s just for warmth. And we’ve got,” he shakes his head, “at least another four, five days ahead of us. It’d be nice to get a good night’s sleep instead of freezing my fucking ass off.”

She smiles then, his endearing grin too infectious not to return.

“Okay.”

He nods, a look of surprise flashing across his features for a split second. “Okay.”

It’s… uncomfortable in the beginning.

That first night consists mostly of her lying straight and stiff, making sure nothing of hers touches anything of his. The tension is so thick she’s certain neither of them will actually get any sleep.

She stays as far from him as possible in the incredibly small – and as the night wears on, even smaller – tent, her back to him for hours before she can no longer continue in that position, a sore achiness spreading along her side.

Finally rolling over, she keeps her eyes shut tight, feigning sleep until curiosity gets the best of her. One lid cracking open, she can see him as he lies on his back, his arm resting over his forehead. His eyes are open, staring blankly at the top of their tent, his furs pushed down around his waist. It was hardly the position of a man _“freezing his fucking ass off.”_

“Bellamy,” she whispers, hesitant to break the silence around them.

He turns to her with a start, eyes blinking as if he’d been in a world of his own.

“You’re not asleep?”

“You either,” he notes, voice rough in his attempt at a whisper. The sound of it, deep and rich, like the warmth of a thick blanket, blending with a taut raspiness, makes her belly clench. “Are you cold?”

She only nods, not knowing what to say. Yes, she’s technically cold, goosebumps raised and muscles shivering as her fists hold her furs close beneath her chin, but she’s getting warmer every second his eyes are on her, as if he was thawing her out, melting her ice cold exterior with his warm gaze that caresses her features.

He inhales deeply, releasing it slowly before he holds out an arm. “C’mere.”

And it’s really as simple as that. As she scoots herself and her furs to his side, the awkwardness evaporates. Only the feel of his arm around her back and the sound of his body beneath her ear remain.

He adjusts his position slightly, getting comfortable beneath her weight and she lifts her head. “You’re fine,” he assures softly, before another deep breath leaves his lungs, causing her to rise and fall with his chest.

An errant thought pops into her mind; she hasn’t felt this comfortable – this _safe_ – since the Ark, before her father’s death, and she wants to keep it – protect it. She hopes it doesn’t end.

xxxxxxxxx

It went on like that for two days. During the day they traveled, chins tucked within the collars of their heavy coats and furs, against blistering winds. Then come dusk, the three sat around the fire, eating and preparing for the next day, Roan telling them of all the things to expect when they finally arrived. It sounded… _okay_ , she supposed. Violent and rough perhaps, but Roan promised things were slowly changing under his rule.

She believes him – trusts him. She doesn’t know how to explain it, doesn’t even try with Bellamy, the wary, biting glare he intermittently gives the Ice King said enough about how he felt about the man.

Of course it was nothing like that first morning after they’d emerged together from their tent, Roan’s amused eyes darting from the bashful co-leaders and back to his saddlebags as he filled them. He hadn’t said a word – he hadn’t needed to – and Bellamy’s glowering had reached an all new intensity.

But everything changes that third night as they lie together side by side, Bellamy’s arm tight around her as he breathes into her hair. She wakes to the feeling of the errant strands tickling her cheeks, irritating her out of a rather nice dream filled with a smiling Raven and a laughing Monty.

As consciousness slowly comes to her, so too does the feeling of Bellamy’s strong leg between her own. It feels nice, comfortable, _normal_ as he tightens it around her shin in his sleep.

And then the panic begins.

He’s covered in layers of clothes – not a patch of his skin touches her own – but it doesn’t matter, because the intimate position is already working in her mind, producing a myriad of heady images.

With a herculean effort, she pushes them away, focusing on things that aren’t so… stimulating. Like the absolute steel hold his arm has around her middle, holding her so tight to his chest it almost hurts to breathe. Or the fact that her bladder feels as if it’s about to burst.

Yeah, that’s going to be a problem soon.

Pressing her lips together, she pushes away the desire to burrow deeper into the warmth of his chest and arms, and carefully takes hold of his wrist, wrapping her slim fingers around him before very slowly lifting his arm away. It’s slow going at first, freezing every time he makes a sound or tries to hold on tighter, but eventually she succeeds, setting his hand on his thigh and smiling wide in triumph. She then disentangles their legs, trying hard not to think about how his muscled limb felt between her own.

It’s cold when she crawls away from his furnace-like body, her teeth chattering silently as the icy temperature begins to seep through her clothes, but it’s nothing compared to the bitter chill that steals her breath the moment she leaves the tent. The wind strikes her face with sharp, tiny pinpricks piercing her skin as she staggers through the snow and into the trees.

She misses the regulated temperature of the Ark, and while the suffocating, wet heat of summer is unpleasant to say the least, it has nothing on this wintery graveyard. She tries thinking of the positives while she does her business, focusing on the glitter of the snowy landscape; so smooth and white – _pure as the driven snow_. In her seventeen years on the Ark, she never thought she’d actually see it, _feel_ it.

It was soft, magical… and _fucking cold_.

Their tents are thrashing in the wind when she returns, shaking and struggling against their stakes, but thanks to Roan they hold strong. He’s a man of the north, and he was extremely knowledgeable on how to survive its harsh weather. And that included knowing how to pitch a good tent.

She steps soundlessly inside, quickly resealing the entrance. A smile creeps across her face when she turns, the sight of Bellamy’s sleeping form, adorable. He’d rolled forward in her absence, practically lying on his stomach with one arm under his pillow and the other reaching out where she’d been lying moments before. Again, that feeling hits her hard, the one that she’d desperately tried to ignore even though the effect it had on her body was nearly overwhelming.

She blinks it away, pressing her lips determinedly together. She was the queen at squashing unwanted feelings.

_But were they unwanted?_

The last few months they’ve shown up more and more. Or maybe, they’ve always been there, she’s just never noticed it between staying alive and saving the world.

His breathing is deep and rhythmic – he was definitely still asleep. Deciding not to take the chance and wake him, she lies on the opposite side of the tent, just out of reach of his outstretched arm.

Then- “Let me guess, you had to pee again?”

The muffled words against his pillow make her jump, her heart lurching in her chest. After taking a moment to recover, she opens her eyes and sees that his are still closed.

“That’s like, what? The third time tonight?” he mumbles sleepily.

“I have an overactive bladder.”

“Obviously.”

She laughs softly, happy that they still have this, that after everything, they were able to heal and find each other again, along with the support and trust they need from one another. “I think it might be this weather.”

His eyes open then, bleary and searching in the dark of the tent. “What are doing over there?” he asks without accusation, lifting his arm for her – an invitation she takes without hesitation. She’s quickly enveloped in the warmth of his body, their noses nearly touching.

“Jesus, Clarke,” he hisses at the feel of her, holding onto her tighter. “How long were you out there?”

She shrugs, unable to find her voice at the feel of his hand as it slides down her arm, wrapping around her own that she’d had planted against his chest. She’s in awe at how they encompass hers completely, how thick and solid his fingers are, and her thoughts begin to slowly drift into the mess that they were before she left the tent. But she can’t stop it this time – or maybe she just doesn’t want to – enjoying the feeling of his calloused fingers as they rub circulation back into her freezing hands.

He brings them up to his lips, breathing over them hotly while keeping them trapped within his own. All she can do is stare, trying not to give in to the shiver that threatens to race down her spine at the sight of his mouth so close to her fingers.

“I can’t wait till we get there,” he says, unaware of the shift within her. “I’m ready to get out of these tents.”

He peers up when she doesn’t respond, his eyes finally noticing the heat she knows must be all too visible in hers. His fingers falter against her cold skin, but quickly resume in their work, massaging warmth back into her hands while his gaze dips down to her lips, causing the fire in her belly to explode.

It doesn’t take much movement, their faces being as close as they are, when she slides her cheek across the pillow, wetting her lips. The look in his eyes before their lips touch is indecipherable, so many emotions swimming there at once that it’s impossible to read his feelings. But the _desire_ is there, prevalent and burning in his irises. And that’s what does it for her, giving her that last push she needs to press her cool lips against his warm ones.

And it’s nice, the chaste kiss making her brain go all fuzzy and the tips of her fingers tingle – or maybe that’s the lack of blood they were receiving thanks to Bellamy’s unyielding grip he now had on them.

But she wants more, more of everything – more of his mouth, his body, his heat. She wants to melt into him, to share the same space – same breath. After all this time, and everything they’ve been through, she just _wants_ him.

Her tongue darts out, brushing along the seam of his lips making him growl deep in his chest, and oh god she feels it, not only the rumble of it against her, but the effect it has on her own body which is strung tight enough to snap.

Ripping her hand out of Bellamy’s grasp, she cups his face as he opens his lips, letting her sweep her tongue in and stroke his own. It sends currents through her body, sparking in her chest and flashing down into her core.

He holds fast onto her back after the loss of her hand, pressing her close before firmly caressing her side, his hand smoothing up from the flare of her waist to the sides of her breasts, then back down again.

A sigh, that sounds an awful lot like a groan, escapes her throat, and she hitches her leg around his hips, rocking into him slowly but deeply, smiling internally at his sharp intake of breath.

His lips break away with wet smack, and they’re both breathing as if they’ve run a marathon. She feels so light, so happy, and the burning of her skin and stretching of her lips show it so clearly.

That’s why when she finally notices the dark cloud hanging over his own features, her heart stops, and a rush of embarrassment floods her body.

Fear rules his expression, sorrow planted deep in his eyes. And it’s just so- it breaks her.

“I’m sorr-,” she begins to say quickly, immediately cut off by his gruff voice.

“Don’t.”

Realization of the position of their bodies, still so close, crashes into her and she moves away as if she’d been burned.

He rolls onto his back with a rough sigh, scrubbing his hand down his face.

Her eyes burn and it feels like her heart is lodged in her throat. She presses a hand to her lips, confusion over what the hell just happened clouding her mind.

“I don’t want to hear how sorry you are. You’re always so damn sorry.” With a fist on his forehead he shakes his head angrily. “Not everything is your goddamn fault,” he growls as he sits up rapidly.

She’s beyond shocked at the absolute _fury_ in his voice. He’s made her cry before with his angry words, sharp and full of blame. But they were also filled with a sadness, a poignancy for the turn their lives had taken that she’d felt as well. But that wasn’t here this time, there was no sorrow, only a fuming bitterness.

She sits up in a daze, her vision swimming in tears, finally falling when she blinks. She notices what he’s doing, violently shrugging on his boots, and her eyes go wide.

“Bellamy,” she starts with furrowed brows, sniffing loudly as she swallows down the emotion. “What are you doing?”

“There’s only an hour till dawn,” he replies tersely without looking at her, “I’ll make some coffee, start getting ready.”

“Bellamy… you don’t have to go.”

He freezes by the entrance, glaring down at his own feet. “Yeah I do.”

And then he’s gone, leaving her alone as it all begins to well up within her. A sharp cry breaks free but she quickly covers it behind her hand, hoping he didn’t hear it with the wind and tent between them.

She doesn’t know what just happened, only that she may have just destroyed her still fragile relationship with her best friend. And after everything, she’s not really sure she can live with that.

xxxxxxxxx

They don’t speak the rest of that day, Roan doing most of the conversing as Clarke gives him one word answers. Bellamy doesn’t say anything, riding up ahead of them a ways, back straight and neck stiff.

Of course Roan notices, keen eyes on them the rest of that night as they eat by the fire. Bellamy sets up his own tent again, and Roan only chuckles with a lightness that pisses her off, because while there’s certainly been times when she’s been more miserable than this, losing Bellamy is something that terrifies her down to her very core, and she can’t see what’s so fucking funny about it.

Bellamy has a more… visceral reaction. He throws down his tent stakes – having curtly refused Roan’s help – and stands to his full height, eyes hot and raging. “You have something you wanna say?”

Roan’s smirk disappears, though he doesn’t yet seem particularly hostile, even as he takes a step forward. “Only that you need to pull your head outta your ass.”

Of course Bellamy doesn’t say a thing to that, only coming up close to the Ice King, standing toe to toe. Clarke’s eyes bounce worriedly from man to man. Roan doesn’t seem to be backing down, and she knows Bellamy won’t, so she slips her shoulder between them, placing a hand on Roan’s chest.

“That’s enough,” she says with authority, making him look down at her. Her face softens as she gazes back up. “Please,” she implores.

His eyes clash one last time with Bellamy before stepping away, shaking his head in exasperation.

She turns hesitantly, looking up to Bellamy who continues to glare at Roan. She knows he’s avoiding her, avoiding a connection, but she practically wills it by her refusal to look away.

The moment their eyes meet her heart beats fiercely, her mouth going dry from her heavy breathing. She sees the regret there, the guilt, full and heavy, before he quickly closes it off, clenching his jaw and striding away to finish setting up his tent.

xxxxxxxxx

On their last night they come across a clearing that Roan deems to be a good enough spot to make camp.

“We’ll be there tomorrow,” he announces as they unmount, taking out their supplies. “And you’ll have all the mead you can drink.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Lovely,” she says dryly.

She peeks over her shoulder at Bellamy, feeling a pull towards him as always. His face is blank except for his dark brows that seemed to be perpetually hooked together.

When he’s finished, he turns toward the tree line. “I’ll get some firewood,” he says over his shoulder, heavy footfalls stepping through the snow.

She watches him walk away, his shoulders stiff and unyielding as he disappears into the woods. She wants to go after him, force him to talk to her, to listen to her as she apologizes for everything. She loves him, she needs him, and if he never sees her as anything more than a friend she’s completely fine with that – or at least she can make herself be.

She feels Roan’s eyes on her, but ignores them as she works on getting her tent set up.

“You wanna talk about what the hell happened between the two of you?”

“No,” she says promptly, raising her brows before they slam together and she spins around. “Nothing happened between us.”

He scoffs. “Oh really. Silly me, I must’ve been _imagining_ all the tension and glaring between you two.”

She has nothing to say to that because, well, denying it would only be denying the obvious. And she refuses to do that anymore. “It’s complicated,” she says in a small voice.

He stays quiet, working and focusing on his own shelter, making her think that he probably won’t respond at all. He’s done with her and Bellamy. She can understand how the whole thing has been more than frustrating for him. This was supposed to be a diplomatic mission, and she and Bellamy have turned it in to their own personal soap opera.

She swallows sadly, wishing she knew how to fix this – all of it.

“Love is complicated.”

Her head whips around at that. He said it with such understanding, with an experience that hinted at a history of pain.

“You’re not still denying _that_ are you?” he asks without turning around.

“Denying what?”

He stops what he’s doing, sighing instead. He looks at her over his shoulder, eyes unreadable. “That you love him.”

And… of course she loves Bellamy. She can now admit that she’s loved him for quite a while, that he’s her person. Her person that she thinks of when she needs to steel herself, that she knows will always have her back no matter how angry he is with her, and whom she can pour all her fears into knowing that he can do the same and they’ll both give each other the support and strength to hope for the future.

The question is no longer if she loves Bellamy Blake, it’s, what kind of love is it? She thinks of his lips on hers, his hot breath fanning over her face, his molten eyes that rove over her and make her burn from the inside out.

Okay, she knows _exactly_ what kind of love it is, but…

“He doesn’t want me,” she says, voice breaking.

Roan only huffs. “You both need to pull your heads outta your asses.” he says derisively, returning to his task as he ignores the scowl she points at his back.

xxxxxxxxx

When they finally get there she’s impressed. It’s no Polis, but it’s definitely more than Tondc. Small homes – A-frame cabins really, that look so damn warm on the inside – lead the way in, lining the muddy path made hard by the frozen temperatures.

Chatter is loud around them as people follow, some calling out for Roan but most only watching and speaking to each other, probably trying to figure out who the hell she and Bellamy are.

They continue on the long paths, turning down one and then another before Roan’s “palace” is revealed. It’s certainly not anything like Lexa’s tower, more like a larger version of the surrounding cabins, but the architecture and craftsmanship that went into it makes her jaw drop.

Roan unmounts, and she and Bellamy follow suit. He looks back at them with a smile, a true happiness she doesn’t think she’s seen from him before, lighting up his face. “Home sweet home.”

The hard muddy path turns into three wide, stone steps, leading up to the lodge.

She traces the engravings along the door frame. It looks like a story in pictures. Fascinated smile on her face, she turns to Bellamy, only to catch him doing the same with a look of concentration, leaning in close to inspect the images.

Once inside, Roan is immediately attended to by various people.

“Delegates of the Skaipeople,” he says, introducing her and Bellamy. “Prepare rooms for them. Help them get cleaned up,” he orders.

Clarke remembers this man when she first met him, dirty and desperate to get back home. Stuck under the heel of his mother’s boot. But now… He’s certainly taken to kingship.

“Take some time to relax and eat. I’ll speak with you both later.”

And with that she and Bellamy are shown from the room. They walk side by side down a narrow hallway, shoulders and fingers brushing against each other, sending currents up and down her arms and across her chest, jump starting her heart. The space around them is so small, almost suffocating, and his presence is so large beside her, taking up every inch of her world. Like it always has, even when she didn’t want to admit it.

They’re finally led to their rooms, two doors across from each other. And they turn to each other one last time.

The strain between them is still there, pulsing and tense, but it feels as if something has softened. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s forgiven her or because they’re in a strange place full of strange people with only each other to count on – or maybe it’s just a bit of both. She hopes it’s both as she nods to him, a nervousness at being left alone here starting to creep up inside her.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, soulful brown eyes saying so much more than his words. _I’ll be right here. Just across the hall._

And it’s exactly what she needs, that little bit of strength – of encouragement before they separate.

The room is small but warm, almost stifling with the large fireplace that takes up half a wall. A door opens to her right and a woman exits with a pale. “Your bath is ready,” she says with a no nonsense attitude, marching up and pushing Clarke into the small room from which she just exited.

It’s full of steam, making her sweat almost immediately, but it smells amazing. She can’t pinpoint the scent though, some sort of floral smell that makes her think of the plants her mother had hanging in their quarters on the Ark.

“Well undress already, come on.”

Clarke sets her jaw, eyeing the stout woman with annoyance. “I think I’ve got it from here, thank you.”

The woman harrumphs, mumbling under her breath as she stomps away, slamming the door behind her.

In the corner is the bath, made of stone and built into the wall. When she steps in she sighs at the heat it offers and knows that after this she’s going to feel cleaner than she ever has since coming down to the ground.

After, she can’t stop the toothy smile that stretches across her face, being clean is an excellent mood enhancer. She wraps herself in the robe that was left for her – though she scoffs at the fact that it’s not really anything more than a thin fabric with armholes.

There’s also a mirror, slightly warped and flaking around the edges, but it’s the first time she’s seen her reflection that wasn’t from a body of water. She uses it to braid her hair, a loose simple one, and she blinks with astonishment when she realizes she almost looks like the girl that first landed here – so fresh, and clean and innocent.

She can never be that girl again, she knows, but this is definitely a start.

Her mind wanders, wondering what Bellamy’s doing, wondering what he looks like after being truly clean for the first time in- She suddenly remembers him after landing, the slick back hair and slimy, irritating smirk, and she laughs to herself, just a small one that surprises even her.

This must mean she’s healing, being able to find happiness while alone – she’s usually unable to stand herself for very long, much less make herself laugh.

She tests out the bed, desperately missing the beds of Polis. The cots in Arkadia were fine, but the Grounders really knew how to make a mattress. It’s like heaven compared to the ones at home, just like she knew it would be, softer and roomier than anything the Arkers have ever had.

She’s snug and comfortable, the scent from the bath wafting into the room, mixing with the warmth given by the fireplace. Her eyelids begin to feel heavy along with her body, and she’s suddenly exhausted, soon giving in and closing her eyes.

xxxxxxxxx

When she wakes it’s dark, the fire having gone out long before, leaving only smoldering embers behind. She feels the chill, but it’s still nothing like sleeping outside in a tent, but she still rubs her arms to ward away the goosebumps that are raised along there.

She wonders how much time has passed, and panics for a moment when she worries that Bellamy and Roan may have decided to start without her.

But no, Bellamy would never do that. If anything he would tell Roan to wait till tomorrow, not only because they were in this together, but also because Bellamy _hated_ these damn political meetings.

She feels that familiar pull towards him, her body aching to go to him. They needed to talk anyways, hash things out and move on in their relationship, preferably before any discussions happen with Roan and his councilors.

She’s not really keen on strangers seeing her in this “robe” though – seriously, it hides absolutely nothing and is the most pointless use of fabric she’s ever seen – but the material felt amazing, thin and light, and Bellamy’s room was only four steps away from her own.

Blonde head peeking out, she finds the hall empty and steps silently to Bellamy’s door.

She swallows down her nervousness. She knows he doesn’t hate her, after how understanding he’s always been with her, after Tondc and her leaving, she knows he never would. She believes that with her heart and soul. But that doesn’t mean that she’s not embarrassed, that she doesn’t feel like the biggest idiot for taking the plunge only to find out her feelings weren’t reciprocated.

Her fingers lay flat against the wooden door as she tries to for once be as brave in her relationships as she is when she’s fighting for the lives of her people. Thinking of Bellamy’s smile and all the times he’s been there for her, all the times he’s shown her how much he cares, gives her the courage to knock.

Her heart hammers in her chest, sounding loud and thunderous in her ears.

Nothing happens.

She knocks again, thinking he might actually be asleep seeing as how it’s the middle of the damn night. Her assumption appears to be correct when again, no one answers, but she can’t just leave. They need to talk – to set things right. They’ve been through too much to let this come between them.

With a careful push the door opens, and her eyes sail straight to the bed, disappointed to find it cold and empty. Stepping into the room, she turns to look in the bathroom, only to find it with its door open and space empty.

Now her heart begins beating harshly for a whole new reason – where is Bellamy?

She shouldn’t panic, she tells herself, chances are he’s roaming the lodge, lost in the history and architecture of the building. Or maybe he-

“Clarke.”

Her head turns to the soft call of her name from the corner of the room. She squints, but is only able to make out the dark outline of Bellamy’s body.

“Bellamy?”

She goes closer, kneeling hesitantly before him and gasps when she sees what it is he’s hiding.

“What the hell happened?” she asks, her hand coming up to lightly touch the cuts and bruises that litter his face. He’s submissive in her hand, letting her turn his head however she wants as she examines his battered features.

“I went out. It was stupid.” He shakes his head, sniffing hard.

“What happened?” she asks again.

He releases a long, shaky breath, and she realizes he’s crying. “I found a- I don’t know, a tavern I guess. I was keeping my head down, just watching them, wondering if these people were really the same ones who killed ours in Mt. Weather.” He drops his head on the wall with a thump, turning to look out the window. “I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want to carry hate forever.”

“Bellamy…”

“I know that they’re not all responsible for what happened. I know that. But even after Pike… It’s hard.”

She sets her hand on his knee, thumb rubbing comforting circles. His eyes drop to the gentle caress, unmoving.

“I heard them. They were talking about us. I couldn’t understand all of it, but they were trying to figure out who we were – who _you_ were.” His nose flares as he lifts his head suddenly, anger shining out through what she could make of his dark eyes. “And then they did.”

“What did they say?”

He pushes his tongue into his cheek. “It doesn’t matter. But they don’t like you – not that they like me any better, but between your… relationship with Lexa, their dead queen, and their dead Heda, you’re not their favorite person.”

“Please tell me you did not start a bar fight over my honor.”

A small huff of laughter escapes his chest, and he grins wryly. “As much as I would like to say I did – no, I didn’t. I was getting up to leave – couldn’t stand listening to them anymore. And then… then they brought up Mt. Weather.” He inhales sharply, sitting back away from her, breaking contact with her hand.

“They killed them,” he says darkly. “It’s my fault for leaving, but these sons of bitches killed them and they’re happy about it.”

“Bellamy-”

“They killed Gina, and I…”

She’s heard about Gina from Raven, heard about the kind of thoughtful, easy-going person she was. How she only wanted to help people – to help Bellamy. And she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel the slightest bit jealous over her, over the girl who was able to be with him when she couldn’t, who was able to soothe him after Mr. Weather – have that drink with him.

Then she remembers that the poor woman is dead, and never did anything wrong to deserve her jealousy other than fall for the man that Clarke abandoned. And then she feels like the shitty person she knows she sometimes is.

“I let it happen.”

She doesn’t know what to say. She could tell him he’s not responsible until she’s blue in the face, but it’s _him_ who has to believe it – has to understand it and accept it.

“And then I let my guilt turn me into a murderer.”

She sighs, turning around and sitting beside him against the wall, shoulders pressed up against each other. “You’ve done a lot of horrible stuff,” she says, deciding to try a new tactic, and she can feel him as he stiffens beside her. “You’ve made a lot of bad choices, a lot of bad decisions.” She dips her head, trying to catch his eye. “But guess what? So have I. And it’s okay, because we’re only human. And _we_ ,” she emphasizes, moving her finger back and forth between them, “have had the weight of the world on our shoulders too many times to count.

“Sometimes you have to make hard decisions, Bellamy – and sometimes they’re wrong. Sometimes we let our emotions get the best of us, and people get hurt. Our actions – our choices, they’re a weight that we’re always going to carry. It’s our burden. And I don’t believe it makes us bad people. I won’t judge you for your mistakes, because you never judge me for mine.”

He turns toward her, still not meeting her eyes. “That’s not entirely true,” he says with a hint of amusement.

“Well, we forgive fast,” she responds with a smile.

He licks his lips, quiet as he stares at a spot on the floor.

“I won’t leave you to carry this on your own – not again.”

And then his eyes do meet hers, flashing up quick and stunned. “I know you needed to leave.”

She nods, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, trying not to feel the guilt that always comes over her when they bring up her leaving. “But I won’t this time.”

A grin pulls at the corner of his lips. “That’s a relief, because I really don’t think I could handle dealing with what we saw between Kane and your mom, by myself.”

“Ugh!” She smacks leg, scrunching up her face in disgust at the memory. “Why? Why would you bring that up?”

“Makes me feel better to know I’m not the only one suffering.”

“I would just like to pretend it never happened.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

They’re quiet after that, the silence between them comfortable until she catches him watching at her.

“What?”

“What the hell are you wearing?” he asks, eyes gliding over the nearly translucent fabric.

She lifts the robe more securely over her shoulder, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s a robe. Didn’t you bathe?”

“Yeah but- never mind.” He shakes his head, looking away.

Her stomach flips and she stands swiftly, striding over to the fireplace to start it. Once it’s lit she searches the room, coming back with his pack.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking care of those cuts,” she answers, grabbing his arm to make him stand, and walking him over to the bed before gesturing for him to sit.

Unzipping the pack, she takes out the clean linens and antiseptic she’d acquired from Arkadia’s med bay before they left.

“Stealing medicine?” Bellamy questions playfully. “That could get you floated, Clarke.”

“I’ll take my chances,” she sighs. “I figured if I was going to be stuck with both you and Roan I’d need it since there was good chance one of you was either going to get stabbed or shot – or both.”

She begins applying the antiseptic, not even surprised when Bellamy neither flinches nor pulls away, sitting calm and stoic before her.

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t say?”

His eyes slide up to her, giving her a look but still not moving, and she can’t help the chuckle that comes out.

His face isn’t so bad in the light, most of his injuries just superficial abrasions. “Bellamy, do me a favor.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t get into anymore bar fights, please.”

He gives her a small smile. “I’ll do my best.”

She returns his smile for moment, before her face falls, remembering her original reason for coming to see him. “Are we okay?”

His brows knit together, confused until he remembers, and she can feel the flush on her face. “I know you don’t want to hear this but-”

“Don’t say it again. Please don’t say you’re sorry.”

“It’s okay. I mean- I got the wrong signals and- I’m so bad at this.”

“Clarke-” He looks down suddenly, growling to himself as he lays his face in his hand.

“If you could just… somehow forget it. I would never bring it up. It will never be an issue. Bellamy… I don’t want to lose you over this.”

His head snaps up, his expression one of surprise. He closes his eyes and she’s terrified of what’s to come. He won’t leave her, but now this was always going to be between them – every time they were alone, or their eyes met across camp – he’d remember.

“I love you,” he whispers in a strangled voice, so low she can barely hear him. He looks at her then, eyes serious and soft. “I’m in love with you.”

She gapes at him, trying to understand the meaning of what he said. He loves her. He’s _in love_ with her. And he looks absolutely miserable about it.

“I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“Clarke,” he says sadly with a tilt of his head. “We can’t be together.”

She frowns, refusing to accept his words until he could give her a damn good reason. “Why the hell not? All this time I thought it was me. I thought you were angry for-”

“No, I was never angry at you. I was…” He wets his lips and she can’t stop her eyes from darting down to watch his tongue as it peeks out. “I was angry because I want to be with you. You wanting me – you telling me you want me… it’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”

“Then why?”

He turns away, shifting on the bed.

“No, you answer me, I deserve that.”

He doesn’t look at her when he says it, but even in the orange light of the fire she can see it as his own face flushes under his dusky skin at his admission. “My mom, Gina, you… O,” he rasps out the names of everyone most important to him, and her heart twists deep in her chest because she knows what’s coming.

“I lost all of you. I hurt all of you. And I can’t-” He bites his lip, shaking his head.

Octavia leaving had nearly killed him. He wasn’t the type to wallow in self-pity or disappear inside a bottle, instead he disappeared in his work, pushing all of his sadness and guilt down so deep even she couldn’t see it sometimes. But it was there, festering beneath the exterior of the soldier, the diplomat, the hunter, the builder, the guard and anything else he could do to get his mind off his pain.

He’d searched for Octavia for months, desperate to go on any mission outside of camp to search for her. But every trip was fruitless, and he died a little bit more each time he returned home without her.

Clarke had left him alone, let him deal with his sister’s absence how he wanted until she finally saw what it was doing to him. She pulled him from the darkness, just as he’d done the same for her so many times before. Because that’s what they do – help to show each other the light every time the world becomes too dark.

Still, none of this had anything to do with _them_.

“Bellamy, look at me,” she says firmly, pushing his chin towards her. “I am not Octavia. I will _not_ leave you again. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that,” he says quietly. “What if- What if I hurt you? What If-”

_If she dies?_

By the way her life was going, it wasn’t exactly an impossibility. But… life was about more than just surviving. If the ground had taught her anything, it was that life was short, and you should live it while you can. After all this time, she was determined to do just that.

“You have a list? So do I, and it’s an incredibly long one. But I’m not going to let that stop me from trying to be happy.” She cups his face, her thumb swiping gently across a bruise on his cheekbone. “You make me happy.”

Tears swim in his eyes, causing her own to burn.

“I love you, Bellamy Blake.”

The breath he releases is ragged as he turns away from her, roughly wiping away a tear. He gazes up after a moment, eyes still wet but filled with a light that hadn’t been there before, and she feels it as her body thrums with anticipation.

“Okay,” he says hoarsely. And she smiles because she doesn’t think she’s ever been this damn excited for anything.

“Okay.”

And they stare and stare, both unsure of where to go from here – where to start. Until, with a huff, Bellamy threads his fingers through her braided hair, pushing her down while he surges up to meet her lips. She laughs against him, pressing harder as she takes his top lip between her own.

His lips are soft yet chapped, and she thinks she could get lost in them forever if she isn’t careful.

When they break, neither go very far, noses caressing cheeks, and hot breaths washing hot over each other’s faces. She cards he hand through his curls, loving the feeling of the strands between her fingers, making him sigh against her neck. He kisses her there, long and hard, nipping her with his teeth before sucking lightly. It’s glorious, until her mind breaks free from the dizzy state his talented mouth has put her in.

“No hickeys,” she orders, breathlessly.

He leans away from her, gazing at her porcelain skin. “It might be a little late for that,” he says as his eyes glow with amusement.

She shoots him a frown, but it lacks any real heat, and he laughs – a true laugh that starts deep in his chest and radiates through his whole body. The sound, so bright and beautiful, is not something she’s use to – certainly not something _he_ is, and he falters, face falling just a bit. And she recognizes herself in him.

“It’s okay,” she reassures him. “It’s okay to be happy.”

He opens his mouth, like he’s about to argue the point, but then quickly closes it – a discussion for another day. Instead, his eyes sweep languidly down her body, landing on the tight peaks of her nipples. “I love that… robe.”

She’s sure he does. With the fire crackling behind her, the glow of it outlining her body can’t leave much to the imagination. She takes a step back, and he knits his brows questioningly. Eyes never leaving him, her nimble fingers untie the sash, opening the white material down the middle before it falls slowly off her shoulders and down her arms, pooling at her feet.

Her heart is racing, her chest rising and falling rapidly. The sudden, pulsing tension in the room is palpable, and she swears she can taste it on her tongue as his eyes drink her in. His lips are parted, jaw slack until he swallows, his eyelids fluttering.

She’d like to say she isn’t nervous, that, like always, Bellamy’s presence offers her courage, but in this instance it’s just not true, because even _she_ recognizes that this moment is everything. It’s a desire and a need that’s been building and shifting for so long now she’s scared of the repercussions if it ends badly. But if it ends well…

Coming back between his legs, his hands automatically take purchase at the dip in her waist, squeezing her there before skimming up and around her back. The callouses on his hands scratch and scrape against her sensitive skin, making her tingle wherever they slide.

Placing her own hands on his shoulders, she seats herself on his lap, a leg on either side of him, knees squeezing his hips as she leans forward for another kiss.

And it’s different this time, wet and messy as their lips slide against each other, eager in how they pull and taste, teeth nipping and tongues lapping in a desperate urge to satiate themselves.

Blindly, Clarke catches the hem of his shirt, pulling and tugging until he gets the hint, tearing himself away from her to fling it off and quickly reattach his mouth to her once more. The feel of his body against hers, so solid and stable, makes her own flush hot in a feverish haze, nipples stinging as his hands pass over them, tweaking them as he squeezes the pliant flesh of her breasts.

They’ve gone from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds, and somewhere in the back of her head she tells herself they should slow down, but it just seems so impossible now that they’re finally here in this moment, not knowing when or if they’ll ever have another.

With a gentle push of her body, he sinks down, lying on his back, pupils’ dark and wide as he looks up at her, roving and exploring over her curves, making her core throb hard with every beat of her frantic heart.

His breathing is rapid, the wide breadth of his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, hard muscles beginning to gleam with sweat. She shyly trails a hand down between his pectorals, adding pressure the further down she goes, nails scrapping lightly just below his navel. His belly contracts, muscles jumping at the contact as he releases a quick huff.

“Clarke,” he pleads, voice like velvet and gravel.

She notices the bulge constricted uncomfortably in his pants, and her dry mouth begins to water. With a fearlessness she’s determined to make herself feel, she tentatively traces the outline of him before squeezing gently, fondling him through the thick fabric.

He grunts, mouth twisted as if in pain.

She doesn’t hesitate after that, unsnapping and unzipping until she frees him. Her body shudders with exhilaration at the sight of him and his girth, pussy clenching at the thought of it filling her.

Heated eyes sliding up, she takes him in – all of him – and she can’t help but chuckle as he lays beneath her. His beautiful face is so open and wanting, his chest heaving as his cock lays hard and helpless on his stomach. He’s the perfect picture of vulnerability, and it makes her want to hug him as much as fuck him.

“That’s not exactly what I was hoping for.” He says it lightly, but she can hear the insecurity laced within.

She smiles sweetly, expression full of tenderness. Wrapping a hand around him, she starts a leisurely slide of her fist, rolling the foreskin over the head and back down again. The bed creeks when she bends over, kissing him chastely on the lips before moving to his eyes, then his nose, the dimple on his chin.

“You look adorable,” she whispers against his cheek, “and I wanna ride you.”

He blinks up at her when she pulls away, a mix of shock and lust dancing over his features. They manage to get his pants off, though it takes a bit of work, squirming and tugging as they laugh together.

There’s no preamble as she takes him in hand and slides herself down, and he watches with a desperate focus as he disappears inside her – she thinks the look on his face might just be the most erotic thing she’s ever seen.

A soft whimper escapes her at the feel of him stretching and throbbing within, and she can’t help but roll her hips, nails sinking into his thighs.

Their heavy breathing becomes sonorous, reverberating through the small room, interrupted only by the indecent sounds of their helpless cries and groans.

“Bell-” she breathes, head tilted and lips parted in a panting plea.

He answers with a grunt, his vice-like grip on her hips shifting as he sits up, sliding a hand to the center of her back and giving her a better leverage to move harder.

Her eyes are shut tight as she presses him to her, fingers wrapped – probably painfully – around his curls as she chases her release. He moans into her jaw as he squeezes her calf, pushing up into her as she pushes herself down on him – they’re nothing if not a perfect team. They’ve always worked well together, so it shouldn’t be any surprise that it applies to sex too.

She starts to slow, making him look up at her as she pops two finger into her mouth, then slips down between their bodies to strum her clit.

His breath blows hard down her body as he watches her fingers, matching her slower pace. “Fuck,” he pants, dropping his head onto her shoulder, kissing her there. A few more strokes and he cups her face, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Are you almost there? Huh?” he asks passionately. “Are you gonna come for me, Clarke?”

And she wants to speak, tell him just how close she is, but when she opens her mouth all that comes out is sharp cry. She can only stare at him, mouth and eyes wide as she presses hard on her clit, fingers circling rapidly until it becomes too much and she has to stop.

He’s stopped too, she realizes, once she starts to come down from her high, solemn eyes watching her in awe. His thumb caresses her cheek and her chest clenches at the voracious love she has for this man. It’s visceral and deep, and nothing like she’s ever felt before as it races within her, electrifying every fiber of her being.

She kisses him without thinking, a subconscious action for no reason other than she _needs_ it – needs him.

He twists them both around on the bed, lying her on the soft sheets beneath him. Unmoving, he stays there, nestled between her thighs, hands running up and down her sides as he looks down at her, and as romantic as it all is, she’s starting to become impatient, wanting to feel him inside her once more.

A moans when she begins stroking him again, her juices making him slick beneath her palm.

“I’m trying to take my time, but you’re making this very difficult.”

“We can try for multiple orgasms later. Right now I just want to feel you come.” Her vulgar language seems to have its desired effect, making him groan into her neck.

“In me, on me, I don’t care.”

“Jesus, Clarke. I never thought you’d be into dirty talk,” he says with a grin.

She returns it with a devilish one of her own. “I’m into a lot of things. And if you  _come_ for me, I’ll tell you all about them.”

He drops his head again, burying his face back into her neck. “You’re trying to kill me.” But he does as she asks, guiding himself into her wet heat once more.

It’s slow at first, pleasant with every push and pull. But she wants more – wants to see him lose himself within her. So she urges him on, lifting her legs as high as she can until he grunts in surprise at the new sensation.

His left arm hooks beneath her right knee, lifting it just a little higher, and while she’s not really the most limber person, she thinks she might be able to keep this up until she can watch him come undone.

“I love you,” she mutters, because it’s true and it’s perfect and she’s wanted this for so damn long.

While he doesn’t say it back, his easy thrusts suddenly come harder and faster as he grips her tight, a primal urge taking over him and she can’t help but smile at it.

She wants to play with herself, knows that she could probably come with just a few strokes. But there’ll be time for that later, right now what she wants most in the world is to watch Bellamy Blake fall apart as he pounds her into the mattress.

And it doesn’t take long, a sharp moan washing over her ear like the chocolate she’d tried in Mt. Weather, smooth and sweet. He collapses atop her and she relishes the weight of his body as much as she does the weight of his cock within her. But eventually it grows soft, and his breathing evens out, and he rolls off her.

She turns to watch him, appreciating the beautiful, wrecked state he’s in. His eyes are closed, head thrown back, adams apple bobbing in his throat.

“I love you, too,” he utters breathlessly, his hand sliding across the sheets to lay on her stomach, thumb caressing her hipbone.

And it’s at this moment that she knows no matter what happens, or what they have to go through, they’ll be okay, because they’ve had this time to remember and keep. And hopefully, they’ll have many more to come.


End file.
